


Scattered Fingerprints Align

by Kritty



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Choking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficlet, Gen, Gil is only barely in this i'm sorry, Hurt/Comfort, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Protective Gil Arroyo, but he's there!, general topic of trauma, mentions of a knife wound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 02:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30014484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kritty/pseuds/Kritty
Summary: The invisible force of wrong and fear came to him through the darkness after all, entirely expected but still cruelly in the sense of the fact that there was nothing he could do about it.The dark cloud swept over him like a wave made out of sticky oil, burying his subconscious in its grave, a bed he succumbed to eventually after a certain period of time, as much as he loathed and dreaded it.Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he heard himself starting to whimper.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Scattered Fingerprints Align

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the amonthofwhump challenge on tumblr, bracket 2.
> 
> Prompts: nightmare, choking - see tags for warnings  
> Thanks, just_another_outcast for beta reading!  
> Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, I don't earn any money with this.

  
“All the shadowed glimpses, scattered fingerprints align”  
(Theocracy - The Master Storyteller)  


* * *

The invisible force of _wrong_ and _fear_ came to him through the darkness after all, entirely expected but still cruelly in the sense of the fact that there was nothing he could do about it.  
The dark cloud swept over him like a wave made out of sticky oil, burying his subconscious in its grave, a bed he succumbed to eventually after a certain period of time, as much as he loathed and dreaded it.  
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he heard himself starting to whimper.

_We’re the same, my boy._

Most of the time, the disembodied voice in his mind during the nightly hours of half-existing sounded like his father.

_No one can hear you scream out here._

Sometimes, it sounded like John Watkins, angry but hushed voice echoing through a room underground that Malcolm was not in anymore, having recovered from the knife wound if not from the additional trauma.

_It was a hell of a camping trip._

His subconscious scrambled to get away from the voices, whimpering turning into whining, his hands struggling against the bed shackles that were supposed to save him from further injuries, teeth biting the mouthguard hard, neck muscles straining. He threw his head around, wanting to escape the unmistaken feeling of doom and obliteration coming closer.  
Its been too long, Malcolm.

“Hnng. _No_!”

An invisible weight suddenly settled on his chest, and on his throat, _outgoawaywakeup_ filling his thoughts and his very being. He could feel his mouth falling open in a desperate attempt to suck in more air, the guard toppling out – but the cloud still surrounded him, sticky darkness holding him prisoner in his own mind.  
The darkness had hands, fingers touching his mind, contaminating, poisoning him. 

_We’re the same._

The back of his head was pressing against the mattress under him, his lungs trying desperately to breath. 

_You’re going to die, Malcolm.  
And you will be reborn as me._

He heard a yell, muffled and far away and close to his ears at the same time, and he distantly felt a light pain chasing through his wrists.

“Hey. _Hey_ , kid. Calm down.”  
Gil’s voice broke through the cloud of darkness like the sun in the sky did. He snapped back to awareness with another yell, blinking and snapping his mouth shut, his body becoming limp.  
“It’s okay, Bright. I’m here.”

He stared at the ceiling, gulping and sucking in air – the invisible weight gone, leaving only a trace of dread and strain behind. A hand appeared on his shoulder, was gone a second later and reappeared on his forehead. Malcolm closed his eyes, concentrating on Gil’s cool fingers.

_It’s okay._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :) Kudos and/or comments are appreciated if you liked it.  
> Title from the quote above.


End file.
